FEET
by Kristine93
Summary: HitsuMatsu: So what about Matsumoto's feet? XD Oneshot Told from Hitsugaya's point of view. Funny


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**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.**

**Now, I have NO IDEA where this came from. Seriously. It's just something I thought of in my free time. Since I like self-advertising: if you'd like something more serious there's this new Bleach (HitsuMatsu)story I just started "Cold Mirror Surface". It's adventure/romance and it'll be the first story in which I'll make someone kidnap our favourite Hitsugaya. Whoo! I'm excite! Okay, I've just published chapter 1 so far, so you won't have much to catch up with. Just check out the summary, it'll take you a minute.**

**Thank you! And enjoy.  
**

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**FEET**

**Hitsugaya's POV:**

She's so annoying _sometimes_!

Fine, she's so annoying at _some_ times _every _day! For different kinds of tiny and not so tiny reasons, many of them, named, sounding inappropriately... inessential. Maybe one of the main reasons why they accuse me of being uptight and starchy. Which is far from true.

What happened today is a perfect example of how unjustly everyone judge me.

I was sitting on my desk, working on some documents, as a responsible head of a division is supposed to, whereas my not-so-diligent vice-captain was whiling away on the sofa, humming absolutely ear-rippingly some song to herself.

Benevolent as I was, I was letting her be, for it was Friday and every day from the middle of the week onward was adding more and more to Matsumoto's tendency to rather destroy or hide the paperwork than actually do it. I didn't mind her laziness and lack of enthusiasm as much as I did when I first got this job and I was quite okay with this situation as far as she didn't get in my way. Which, of course, she inclined to do a lot.

"Matsumoto?" I asked as I frowned and sniffed the air, looking up to see her sitting on the sofa with her back facing me "What is that smell?"

"I'm cleaning my old nail polish from my toenails." she explained casually, turning around to show me she was holding a piece of cotton-wool in one hand and a bottle of nail polish remover in the other.

"Do you _really_ have to do this here?" I whined, making a face when the smell hit me with renewed power "This isn't exactly the best place or time, you know."

"Don't be stupid, taicho!" she exclaimed cheerfully "It's perfect! Now tell me what color I should use - red or blue?"

"I'm serious, Matsumoto! I have a very, very delicate olfaction!" I growled, trying to take as few and as shallow breathes as possible "So put this thing away and open the window! _Now_!"

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes wide then nodded, cracking a grin.

"Angry red it is, then!" she whooped and I gritted my teeth together.

"Oh, come on! What's so important in having your toenails colored?" I cried out, throwing my hands in the air "My nostrils are on _fire_!"

"It's part of being beautiful, taicho. Beauty takes sacrifices." she explained to me wisely.

"Your feet are okay without the polish." I insisted.

"You're not right, taicho" she said shaking her head and I saw her close the bottle of nail polish remover. That gave me some false hope I had actually convinced her to see the rational side of things. I was so absorbed by that mirage, that I tore my gaze away from her and returned my full attention back to the papers in front of me.

And then... One moment there was this document I was signing, next - a foot. Shoved right between my raised pen and the paper underneath.

I was frozen on spot, too shocked to move or yell for a few short moments. Then allllll the composure slipped away and I felt a muscle underneath my eye begin to twitch.

"MATSUMOTOOO!"

I ALMOST SIGNED HER DAMN FOOT!

"Calm down, taicho! " she pouted, ruffling my hair when I began shaking "It's no biggie!"

"GET YOUR LIMBS OFF MY DESK RIGHT NOW!"

"First you must tell me what you think."

"Of what?" I asked, more muscles on my face beginning to twitch.

"My foot." she explained, her serious expression almost making me burst into laughter "Feet are a very common man fetish. I want you to evaluate my foot."

To... what???

"Are you _kidding_ me?" I interjected, grabbing her ankle and trying to push her leg off the desk "This is absurd! Get serious! As in, NOW!"

"It's just a tiny favor I'm asking!" she whined, her foot unmovable despite my efforts "Why are you so _donnish_??"

Stupid Matsumoto! ...Knows how to push my buttons...

I rolled my eyes, letting out a sigh of utter exasperation, then contemplated her foot for a moment. I'm positive she beamed victoriously above my head as she wriggled her toes playfully. What was I suppose tell her so she would leave me alone? It's a foot like any other, goddammit! A normal, _female foot_!

I took a deep breath, trying to look at this from a more serious angle. I knew she wouldn't let me be if she wasn't satisfied with my answer and yet I wasn't even sure what the question was! What was it about a foot that could be evaluated?

I gazed at the offered limb, curving my lips to a side. So what's the reason why men are so obsessed with legs and feet? What's so special about them? There should be some beauty they see in those. Now, what is that? Enlighten me, people!

Then, suddenly, I saw it.

Her foot was exactly the right size and shape, the arc drawn perfectly from the balls of her foot to her soft heel. The toes were neither too long, nor too short, slim and tenderly outlined. The bones of her ankle were gently stretching the white skin over them, exquisitely, femininely, absolutely gorgeously. There was simply _nothing_ I could put in the "wrong" section.

I blinked, then shook my head.

"You have beautiful feet." I announced, clearing my throat. Hope that will make her shut. She grinned

Happy? _Move away from my paperwork_!

"So my foot is better than yours?" she chirped. I raised a brow very slowly. What was she...?

"We are comparing our feet now?" I asked slowly.

"Sure!" she beamed. Unbelievable. Un-fuckin'-believable!

I'm so not taking her out tonight...

Yeah, right. That's what I tell myself every day...


End file.
